Profane
by Shipperwolf
Summary: She had gotten used to his dirty mouth. But she never expected his cursing to affect her like this. Caryl, rated for language and Mature!situations.


**Hello again. I come bearing my first...'graphic' Caryl fic!**

**God, Alamo Girl. She strikes again. This is ALL her doing. **

**Direct all PMs to her. She's a wicked genius for placing seeds like this into my head and nurturing them until they SPAWN THINGS.**

**Love you guys for all the great support so far; please review!**

***enter monotonous disclaimer here***

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><p>Ed never spoke a single word during sex with her. He grunted and he groaned and he hissed, but he never spoke. His favored position was staring at her back, and for her part that was of no issue.<p>

She didn't want to see him as he forced himself into her anyway.

He never looked her in the eye.

He never kissed her without biting at her lips.

He never apologized for the bruises or scratch marks.

And he never said a word.

Not one.

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><p>"<em>Fuck<em>."

Carol opened her eyes at the husky utterance into her ear; the ceiling of the RV moved with her as she rocked to the rhythm Daryl was attempting to create.

She did not marvel at how they had come to this point: locked together in a flail of limbs on the floor of the Winnebago at two o'clock in the morning, and she did not question things such as motives and feelings and futures.

Such topics could and would be addressed later.

For now it was the gravely curse he'd let slip hot and moist against the side of her head that held her attention, even more so than the wonderful pooling heat in her gut and the contrasting sharp and smooth jerks of his hips between her own.

She froze in mid-stroke and Daryl's head turned to hover over her face.

"You stopped because I _cussed_?" His eyes were narrowed but dilated, and Carol heard his worry seep from the words underneath the obvious frustration.

Tightening the grip of her legs around his waist brought the length of him back into her fully, and she watched him bite back whatever vulgarity was next on his tongue. She smiled and coaxed his head back down; instinctively he buried his face into her neck with a hesitant thrust.

"No; it's just…I've never had a man say anything during this before…"

She did not tell him that Ed was the only man she'd been with before him. But she suspected he knew nonetheless.

He jerked into her with a grunt and resumed pushing into her smoothly; a rough hand landed on her right hip and his head moved just enough to bring his mouth to her ear.

Carol rediscovered their rhythm and listened to his erratic (and erotic) breathing.

"You can say whatever you want…"

"Shit…" The gasp was loud and almost unpleasantly so, but she would not retract her statement.

She wanted to hear _whatever_ Daryl Dixon had to say.

Carol let her own whimper-like moan escape at the sensation of Daryl's dick actually growing inside of her, and through the increasing fog of her pleasure she knew she had said the right thing.

"_Godammit, _woman." His whisper came with another rock of his hips, blunt nails just pricking the skin of the flesh they dug into. His breathing grew heavier and the moaning more consistent, and Carol suspected that in addition to being deprived of sex for quite some time, it was possible that he had never been given so much freedom when it came to the act itself.

She was never one to dictate sex in the past, and it seemed only fitting to let Daryl express himself in this; she needed him to know just how strong her trust in him really was.

The fact that his preferred position was close and intimate and his rhythm amazingly aligned with her own did not hurt either.

His other hand had found a spot supporting the back of her head and preventing it from hitting the hard floor beneath. She could feel his fingers flex against her skull with every pull and push their bodies made, the light scratch of his nails through her short clipped hair. As the pressure built between them her head swam, rolling back into the large cupped palm and gaining a hungry lick at the throat she exposed in the process.

The wet sensation went from hot to cold and she shivered, her inner muscles clenching him reactively and his entire body jerked in response.

"Son of a _bitch_!"

She suspected he was desperate not to end their union early, as every new word uttered held more and more lusty agitation. If every move he made didn't feel distractingly amazing, she would have made a game of it: 'Count how many different curses Daryl can come up with during sex'.

But the thrusts were harder now, and his breath hot in her face as he stared intensely into her, and Carol could do nothing more than thread her fingers into his messy dark hair and push up into him and whimper and gasp and writhe like a horny teen.

She could not recall ever feeling such intensity with Ed. She could not recall feeling such heightened pleasure, if it could be said she felt any at all. And she certainly could not recall feeling _connected_ to her only previous lover, in any way aside from physical.

Carol met Daryl's gaze in the moonlit RV and pulled his head down to meet his mouth for only the second time since they'd started this tryst.

She was rewarded with a groan and a slight slowing of his aggressive thrusts, and she smiled into the awkward kiss as his tongue swiped hesitantly against her bottom lip. She could not say that she was any more experienced with "good" kissing; she'd avoided such intimacies in the past, as they normally ended with her lips swollen and stinging and sometimes bleeding. But she dared this night to open herself up to a man completely, and it seemed that Daryl's aggression cowered at such a romantic gesture.

Whether or not _any_ part of what they were doing was being done out of romance was yet to be discussed, but she felt it meant _something_.

So she chased his mouth as he pulled his head back and ran her tongue along his lips until they parted and allowed her entrance. She moaned again, louder this time, and something rumbled in his chest in response. Tongues met and lashed against each other and Daryl's hands squeezed both her skull and hip before he tore away suddenly with another heavy gasp.

His head sank back down into the safety of her neck again and the fluid movements quickened and she could hear his breathing get hard and feel the muscles of his back tighten as she ran a hand across his shoulders.

Every nerve in her core hummed with life and Carol felt her head swim and her body began to move against his as if possessed. She could not remember ever being such an active participant. Or a willing one.

Daryl released her head onto the floor and propped himself up on an extended arm, his mouth puffing husky groans into her ear and his new angle driving her toward an orgasm that was literally weeks in the making.

Daryl Dixon was far better than _any _vibrator could ever be…

"_Fuck, yeah…_" His voice seemed surprised and impressed and Carol cracked closed eyes open to wonder suddenly if she had spoken her thoughts aloud.

He was panting into that ear now, no longer of the mind to breathe through his nose, and Carol heard herself mutter something to him as she bucked against his invading dick and felt every muscle in her body coil up for release.

She ignored the sting of pain as her head knocked back against the floor and the RV went white around her. She felt Daryl sink down suddenly and press his forehead against hers in his final few thrusts and behind her own incoherent, girlish gasps she heard it:

"God…shit…_Carol…_"

Warmth shot into her womb and she felt the energy of the man on top of her disappear in an instant. Heaving and spent, he propped himself onto his elbows and bent his head down over hers, his breaths coming in hisses as both their bodies continued to throb in the aftermath of orgasm.

Carol lay frozen beneath him and was content to inhale the smells of pine and smoke and sweat that met her nose from his hair.

After several moments she felt his body relax altogether and he began to lower himself back against her neck.

But not before meeting her eyes and offering a tiny quirk of his lips.

Carol let him lay sprawled across her naked body and fought to avoid spitting out something in her emotional state that could certainly prevent this night from ever happening again.

In the pale white light coming through the windows they breathed each other in and did not speak.

She smiled at the ceiling and closed her eyes.

Daryl had said more than enough.

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><p><strong>*author needs a cold shower and a Daryl plushie to hug*<strong>


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